#character sample meme

[wherethemusetakesme]

Buster from Lady and the Tramp 2

give me a character and i’ll give you a sample of how i’d rp them

((ooc: I tried him once before on another site and didn’t do so well as him. I can understand his mindset okay, I think, but getting his voice to sound right… well, in any case…))

“Angel, baby!”

Leering, deliberately ignoring the way she would wince, roll her eyes, or otherwise pretend the very sound of his voice didn’t arouse her, the big Rottie-mix sauntered towards his girl. For now, it was just the two of them - he’d sent the rest of the gang off to cause michief around the town while he lounged around like the junkyard king he was - and Buster had every intention of making the most of the time.

Did he actually like Angel? That was the question that, he was aware, some of his gang wondered. Sparks clearly flew when she was around him, he could see in her eyes that she lusted after him as much as she hated him, and the feelings…?

Weren’t reciprocated. The little dog was a trophy to Buster, and not much more than that. She wound hang off his foreleg and make him look good, and that was her main use to him. It was why he’d keep her around, even if she failed to bring in as much food as the others did; her pretty face had value to him-

But go out of his way to help her? She could forget ever hoping for that. It was every dog for himself; he’d learnt it the hard way when that bastard Tramp betrayed him, and he was never gonna go back to the old ways.

He shoved the old anger to one side. There were plenty of times when he could yell to his heart’s content about his boiling resentment of the so-called ‘greatest’ street dog - but he wasn’t going to waste this moment on it.

“It’s just you an’ me, babe. What do you say I get comfortable with my girl?”

“I’m not your girl–”

He wasn’t listening. Buster knew, of course, that she held the sentiment; but he didn’t care. Deep in her heart, he knew, she most definitely was his girl, and all the denial in the world wouldn’t change that.

[wherethemusetakesme]

(How abooooout Peridot?)

give me a character and i'll give you a sample of how i'd rp them

((ooc: Oh my goodness xDDD

I can’t guarantee anything good, but… I’ll try, I’ll try xD))

“Alright.”

Green-skinned female tapped her visor slightly. There was an evident nervous tension to her as she paced, her mind running frantically as she tried to make sure every possible variable was accounted for. This was what she was good at, of course - a technician had to be - but usually, the fate of an entire world didn’t hinge upon her success or failure.

That rather increased the stress factor.

Finally, she came to a stop in front of the fusion. Eyes traced upwards to regard the figure; still surprised, in a way, that she felt no fear or animosity towards her anymore. Strange, that; how understanding could make all the difference.

“We need to do this, and we need to do it now. I don’t know exactly when the Cluster is supposed to hatch, but by now, it’s got to be soon. And in spite of how… riveting …Earth entertainment can be–”

She may or may not have been the one responsible for most of the delay; Amethyst had taken great delight in introducing her to some show called Little Butler, and in spite of her vocally expressed distaste for the antics, days had passed in which Peridot had analysed the episodes thoroughly for any and all pair potential, at the neglect of all else, and in spite of the purple gem’s advice to just ‘chill and enjoy it’.

That, however, was going to be conveniently overlooked right now.

“–we can’t afford to waste any more time! The coordinates are in; we either do this right away, or sit back and get blown to a million pieces when it happens. I think that decision should be essentially obvious to everyone here.”

[clairitygrace]

PAXTON

give me a character and i'll give you a sample of how i'd rp them

"What do you think this is, A Very Special Buffy episode? That under my terribly handsome, deviously sexy, and prickish demonic exterior, I have a gooey marshmallow  center? That I'm suffering and have feelings? Well, you're-"

The demon pauses, thinking of all the terrible things he's done. All the suffering he's caused. All the sins he's committed. He can't look at Claire; he gives the impression that he can barely live with himself as he glances away from her.

"You're wrong. This isn't one of your touchy-feely monsters-are-just-like-people TV shows, okay? I'm a demon, Claire. If I have a gooey center, it's all blood and eviscerated guts and all that squishy goodness. i've done bad things, because I am a bad thing."

He laughs at the look Claire gives him, amused with himself. "And you know what that means, Clairey? No. fucking. ponies. For anyone."

[clairitygrace]

Christine Daae

give me a character and i’ll give you a sample of how i’d rp them

(FC: Adelaide Kane; pre-musical; The Phantom of the Opera Canon character)

"Are you there?" Her voice trembles, but she makes herself heard. Though she has heard talk of a phantom, an opera ghost, she knows that she should not fear him. He has told her as much, whispering fear not as her heart pounds and she tries to obey. Who can fear an angel? not she, surely.

"Friend, phantom," she calls to him, voice gentle. She is in their place, the sanctuary of music as she’s come to think of it. It is here he gives his lessons, and here it was she first heard him speak and knew she wasn’t going mad. His voice has been in her dreams almost since she came. She would cry herself to sleep and then hear wandering child, so lost, so lonely, and I’m here, the Angel of Music.

"Angel," there is a smile on her lips as she says it, the word caressed in her mouth. She knows that her father has sent him, this unseen angel who guides her; she half-believes that it is her father himself, come back to keep his little Christine safe.

"I am here, my angel." She says, kneeling and waiting for him to speak to her. There is a long silence, but she knows that if she is patient he will answer her.

I am here he finally speaks. and now let us begin.

[wantedafamily-blog]

[ oOOH OOH. DO BONES. DOOOOOOOOO IT. ]

give me a character and i’ll give you a sample of how i’d rp them

"Dammit Em, I’m a doctor, not a person impersonator!"

[bornforthegoodfight]

REBEKAH MIKAELSON YES PLEASE

Give me a character and I will answer with a sample of how I would RP them?

7 weeks, 4 days, 8 hours, 15 minutes, and 2 1/2 seconds. Now 3. Rebekah had counted the time since the moment she had seen her baby brother last, and it became a torture unlike any inflicted on her in centuries. They got him back only for him to be taken again. She didn’t need answers, she needed blood painted on walls. Someone would talk…eventually.

And they did.

It was a hidden compound, deep in the woods. Concealed in magic, a sickening feeling came over Bekah. They were draining Henrik to do it. He was locking himself in. The shield was weakened: how they were able to locate it. “That’s our boy,” she murmured to her older brother, “he’s fighting it, Nik.” With a nod in understanding, the most acknowledgement he had given her all night, they both slammed a foot against the door. Two Originals in a feral rage, the metal door caved instantly to them. He disappeared from her side, the only sign of him was the blood slinging back at her. A half-second after, baby sister followed suit. The devastation would have made Quentin Tarantino himself want to hurl. The scientists weren’t just slaughtered, they were mangled, left in pieces, a new type of art only a Mikaelson truly appreciated. The tips of her hair were stained a rich crimson as she finished with one who had attempted to defend himself against her.

"Where is he?" She shouted after relishing a moment in the carnage before she was back on the task at hand. 16 minutes 17 seconds. Mentally adding to her count, she heard the sound of a clock stopping. "Bekah!" It was a whirl of movement, and she was at Nik’s side as he opened the door with tangible anticipation. As quick as the force worked to make it cave, Rebekah still ached with the slowness of its feel. There he was. Both siblings rushed to their lost brother, flanking either side. Removing his bindings and the lines keepng him under control. He jerked violently in his apparent sleep, holding him down, she scanned the room for clues or assailants when her eyes fell on…”there’s another one. Stay with Henrik.”

As she approached the comatose form, a sound made her turn around. Henrik had begun to rouse, and Nik’s voice was soothing and warm unlike she had heard in many, many years. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe…” he whispered with such love. It was time reversed.

Bekah wrung another cloth in her hand, the water dripping down into the bowl. Her gaze darted up quickly at any sudden noise. If she were caught, the wrath it would incur was too terrifying a thought to entertain. “Henrik…” the female Mikaelson scolded, her voice shook and never made it above a whisper, “you shouldn’t be here.” He was just a boy then, so small and fragile but strong of will. “You shouldn’t either, Bekah, but here you are.” His retort wasn’t to be argued with, and if her honesty won out, she knew he would come. “How bad?” The small sound quivered almost uncontrollably as though the effort was too great to even speak those words. “He’s hurt worse than ever before. Father was so angry, I feared he might kill him this time.” She confided in the youngest as she leaned down to kiss her elder brother’s temple tenderly, breathing in his ear, “never again. I will not let him hurt you anymore, Nik, I swear to you.” As she rose again, she took immense care in laying the cool cloth over the deep mark along her brother’s torso. Not wishing to wake him to the fit of torment she had found him in as she came to tend to him, it was as though she didn’t even touch him. However, the sting of it was far greater than any ease of movement, and he was startled awake in fear and pain. “It’s us, Niklaus,” Henrik immediately seized his brother’s hand as Rebekah felt her eyes well with tears. “Bekah and I are here. It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe…”

She was snapped from her memory with her brother’s more stern, cold manner, “The girl, Rebekah!” Whirling around as she wiped tears in a flash of movement before making it to the girl’s side. Ripping her free of lines but the bindings remained, her face contorted to the monster her mother made her. Fangs protruding as she leaned forward to bite into the throat. This vixen deserved it; they were certain she was taking from their beloved youngest brother. It would feel good to feel her life drain.

"Bekah?" It was hoarse with disuse, crackling with grogginess and pain, but it was his unmistakably. “It’ll only be a moment, my dearest Henrik, I’ll be over.” He shook his head but quickly knew she couldn’t see him. “Don’t kill her. She is as much a victim as I am.” Her mouth was centimeters from her skin, the warmth radiating against Bekah’s own, the pulse steadily beating in her ears. Reluctantly and with great effort, she pulled back as her lips dropped over her fangs and the brunette girl’s head drooped with regaining consciousness. “We don’t know that, Henrik,” she argued stubbornly, nothing she wanted more than to leave without a single load of extra baggage. “You know as well as I that she is likely connected to you in order to steal your power, or worse, corrupt your mind.”

"I know she is the same as I am, Rebekah. Do not hurt her, please. Save her…for me."

She growled in frustration with her brother, shooting a look back at him. As she took in his weakness, however, her eyes softened. The human part of her won, the piece Henrik would bring out of them all. Always and Forever.

Turning back, she tilted her body closer to the woman they would later call Marzia, a smirk twisted on her devilish lips as she taunted with grateful heart that only three in this room would hear this, “you are very, very lucky that you are pretty.” The last syllable escaping with such disdain it could have been venom from a serpent instead of a young-faced vampire. Freeing her from bindings, she yanked her up. Balancing her for a moment on the floor, she lifted her with strange ease over her shoulder.

"Niklaus, grab Henrik and let’s—" she spun on her heels, and found breath she did not need taken from her. The sight was its own revenge for her cruelty. Klaus carried Henrik already, much as he had done over a thousand years ago. Their baby brother fading in and out of consciousness, his head fell heavy against his older brother who cradled him as though he was the most precious thing in all the world. Oh, and to the Mikaelsons, he was. "He saved your life," she snapped fiercely to the body she carried as they took their exit, "you better be worth it, darling."